


When is a Blog not a Blog?

by Iocane



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, crowley has a seekrit, no beta we die like men, zira loves food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane
Summary: Crowley had often talked to God but he had never actually prayed.If he did, it would be that Aziraphale never discovers Crowley's blog.





	When is a Blog not a Blog?

Like a great many things in Crowley's life, he didn't  _ mean _ to do it. It had just happened.

Crowley knew Aziraphale blamed 'his' side entirely for the invention of the computer. Which is why, even in 2020, he still didn't have one.

Crowley, on the other hand, had watched them go from room filling behemoths down to enough processing power in a watch to land man on the moon.   
  
Computers had been the work of mankind, just like the French Revolution, the Spanish Inquisition, and any other kill-a-lot-of-humans-very-quickly endeavors. The internet, also, had been entirely human driven.

What Crowley's side could take full credit for, however, was blogs.

Blogs, places where humans could talk to no one about everything were quite simply pride in ongoing, written form. Add pictures, to roll vanity in there, as well.

Of  _ course _ Crowley had a blog. It was a dark, edgy themed one, mostly where he went when he was too tired of yelling at his plants, or when too many spots had been in evidence and he avoided them entirely.

Most of the entries were him bitching about various things, and his "audience" loved it. He took care not to be too popular, and he never said anything downright evil. In truth, he never really said anything Zira would do more than tut-tut at him for. It was the way he said it, all sharp words and aggressive language. Crowley in a mood could make a sunrise sound dangerous and edgy.

Crowley knew down to the hour when it had started, because he still had the original post. Locked away from public view, now, thank you very much. It had been two in the morning, and he'd been out with Aziraphale. His entry had planned to gently tease his friend for his taste in clothes and food.

What he'd done instead, which he blamed entirely on fatigue - he hadn't slept in nearly a month at that point - was gush about the angel. The way his fingers handled the food so delicately, even if the food didn't seem deserving of such care. How his face showed every flavor as it cascaded over his tongue, glee and wonder when it was good, unmistakable annoyance at the sour notes. And, because of course he remembered every word, he relayed everything Zira had said  _ about _ the food.

Which had, in the end, been quite a lot.

When he staggered out of bed the following afternoon and saw the post he was beyond horrified and almost deleted it. But it was about Zira and he couldn't. So he locked it, hid it away just like the holy water, and intended to forget about it.

Except his followers wouldn't let him. They noticed the missing entry, they still wanted to know where it had been, what else had he had since. It had been his most popular post, everyone asking where this divine (that made him laugh out loud) meal had come from.

It had been lost, somewhere, that it wasn't  _ his _ opinion of the food. He'd never eaten so much as a morsel that night.

The next time he ate out with Zira, he was as captivated as ever by how he revelled in the meal. That was something you'd expect of his side, that decadence and hedonism. But no, it wasn't either of those things, not in Zira's case. It was much simpler, and much more wholesome than that. Zira loved food.

He didn't love  _ judging _ food, he didn't like only certain kinds, he didn't love  _ to eat _ in a way that could be called gluttonous. He simply loved food, and always had.

By the time the fauxpocalpyse had come and gone, Crowley had been running, in secret, one of the most popular food blogs in the world.

It would go something like this, he or Zira would suggest some place to eat, usually Ccrowley if he had somewhere he'd heard about, or if he thought Zira would like some new Morroccan or Turkish or Cambodian place. They would go, and Crowley would listen, rapt as ever, as Zira at and dissected the flavors, his words soft and warm and round, just like him. Even if he had to criticize, he did so in the sweetest way possible, a way that left you simply wanting to do better next time.

Then Crowley would, as soon as he was alone, write everything down, and make a blog entry out of it. Never any pictures, it wasn't about how showy the food was. And there was no rating system - how did you compare delicious, messy street food, to artfully arranged fine dining, to authentic hole in the wall places with tiny but exquisite menus? No, each review stood on its own, usually glowing praise for whatever good could be found in every meal. He never lied, all the entries were couched in the language of "I was out with a friend and they said …" but it was understood to be a pretense, a cute little gimmick to make his blog stand out.

Crowley had often talked to God but he had never actually prayed. If he did, it would be that Aziraphale never discover Crowley's blog. It would be obvious what his inspiration was. The title was A-Z Fall in Love with Food, a play on how Aziraphale often humanized his name. The clouds and sky motif might be a bit twee, but it suited the tone of the blog.

+++++

Zira set down the last little bone and began to delicately wipe his fingers. "Oh you really should try some, my dear," he said to Crowley, though he knew his companion's plate and belly would remain empty. "The garlic in the sauce is just a trifle heavy handed but when you make a bite out of it with the chicken and the pita it's-" he felt his cheeks color just a bit "It's divine, and you know I don't use that word lightly, not any more," he said with a fleeting glance upwards.

Both sides seemed content to leave them alone for now. Due in part, no doubt, to their little demonstrations. Crowley said it wasn't over, but until then, Zira saw no reason not to enjoy all the things he'd almost lost forever.

"Maybe next time," Crowley said, as he always did. "Did you want dessert, angel? I hear the devil's food cake here is to die for," he said with a wicked smile, flashing his pretty yellow eyes at Zira over his sunglasses.

Zira felt his face grow pink and his breath caught just slightly. Six thous- _ six thouand years _ and Crowley's smile still made him feel warm and tingly. "I suppose I could be tempted in that direction," he said.

Even before he was finished, Crowley was leaning back, signalling their waitress. His arm was draped over the back of the chair, looking very much like the snake he'd once been. It was something Zira admired about him. Even as a human, he was very snakelike in his movements. The way he draped, the way he moved, all smooth and sinewy. The way twisted and wound himself around Zira's heart.

Zira knew he could be talkative - chatty some would call it, but it was really only two things that brought it out. Things he liked - such as food, and crowley, or things he didn't. Like people in his shop trying to buy  _ his _ books! He would chatter endlessly at them until they fled.

When he combined food and Crowley, he found he couldn't shut up. Crowley listened, to him at least, in a way that made him want to keep talking. Keep those slitted eyes on him. His chin propped up on a hand, looking like a snake draped over a branch. For the longest time, Zira had made himself think of that look as predatory. They were in a way natural enemies.

Now, after … everything, it still felt animalistic, but in a wholly different way. One that Zira wasn't entirely certain how to deal with yet. 

The dessert arrived and Zira dove in - so much as he dove into anything. It was as good as Crowley indicated. He could feel Crowley watching him, taking in every word the way he always did. It made him just slightly nervous, so he talked. About the food, how well everything went together, how good the choices were, how moist the cake and how it complimented the meal itself.

The next morning Zira was in his shop, carefully unboxing a new delivery. Someone had left his estate of books to Zira, which was a touching gesture since the man had been trying to  _ buy _ Zira's books for years. 

His shop bell rang and Zira took a breath, ready to go out and irritate whoever it was, but then he beamed. "Anathema! What're you doing here?" Not that he minded seeing her, but between Newt preferring the country - away from computers that still wouldn't work for him - and herself being an American, she wasn't in London very much.

"Came to yell at you!" She said, giving his shoulder a swat before granting him the hug his arms had been asking for.

"Yell at me?" He asked, a bit baffled at that. "Did I miss some birthday? Are you-" He glanced down and shook his head, nothing new there. "What have I done that deserves yelling at?"

"You told me you don't have a computer," she said even as she began rummaging through her purse.

"I don't! Whyever would I lie about something like  _ that _ ?" He didn't even have a 'smart'phone. The phone in his shop could accept and make all the calls he needed, and when he wasn't at his shop, he didn't wish to be contacted. Except possibly by Crowley, and really the best way for Zira to get in touch with Crowley was to get himself into a spot of trouble.

"Then how'd you make this?" She asked, showing him what he quickly realized was a blog of some kind.

He took the phone from her to hold it just right. He looked the part of a middle aged man, he was going to play it to the hilt. "A to Z Fall in love with … food." He felt a faint shiver, one he'd first felt whilst still at the garden. His hand still warm from where he'd held his sword, watching two humans make their way in the world. And a snake had slithered up beside him and changed form. 

It took a moment and a brief assist from Anathema to begin actually reading through the blog. He blushed when he recognized his own phrasing, meals he'd had down to the crumb. Fall in love with food indeed. "I didn't do this," he finally said, though he had a very good idea who had done it. By the third entry he was certain of it.

"Where are we going?!" Anathema asked as he grabbed her arm, dragging her out of the shop. No doubt she'd expected him to simply shove her out, but no, he needed her for this.

"If I'm going to join the twenty first century, I need the help of someone who's already here." Zira rarely acted on impulse, but this one had been slowly brewing over the last few months. He had eschewed computers and all their attendant technology for many reasons, but largely because he still felt they were from the other side, and after six thousand years of doing his best to be a good little angel -- arrangement notwithstanding - old habits died hard. 

Or, sometimes they died very sudden deaths when you find out your best friend was running a food blog in your name.

That evening, he'd called Crowley - using his shop phone of course - and asked if he'd like to come over. A meal was hinted at, a lovely new place that specializes in delivery.

While Crowley was a good deal more visibly dramatic, Zira was not without his flair.

When Crowley arrived at the closed shop, using the key he'd had for decades, the shop was carefully lit to draw him through the shelves towards the back.

Zira had considered any number of grand reveals - a large flat screen monitor hung conspicuously where it would be the first thing Crowley saw once he passed a strategically placed pile of books. Or even a chirpy electronic beep in exchange for the bell.

He'd opted for something a bit simpler, however. He could feel Crowley's eyes on him as he sat back. "Did you know," Zira said as he began to turn his chair slowly. "That once you get the hang of how to use it, a smart phone is a key to the entire world?"

"I did, I'm surprised you do. Thought you were avoiding all of that. My side and whatnot." Crowley was a bit nervous. Zira could see the way his pupils shifted even through his glasses.

"As you pointed out, we're on our own side, Crowley. I don't need to be the company man any longer. I've been doing a good deal of exploring all day long," he said. He had his phone in one hand, and his angel-wing mug in the other. "So many wonderful little nooks and crannies." Zira finally turned his phone so Crowley could see, and he was rewarded with the demon actually taking half a step back. For a heartbeat, Zira worried he'd misjudged, that Crowley would flee.

"Thought you'd be pissed," Crowley finally said, voice unusually quiet.

"I was," Zira admitted, setting the tartan-cased phone on the desk along with his mug. "For about two hours," he as nothing if not honest. "Then I was set up, and I actually sat down to  _ read _ it," he stood, and fastidious brushed imaginary crumbs from his clothes before tugging his cardigan straight and making sure his lapels lay just right.

"And now?" Crowley tried to slouch, one hand half in his pockets, the other resting tensely on a pile of books nearby, spine curling, a snake trying to coil away from a predator, but still dangerous, ready to strike if mishandled.

Aziraphale had six thousand years experience in handling this particular snake. "I think we've both been at this too long for me to try and boil it down into trite human words. But I believe I know what it's  _ really _ about." Zira took small, careful steps as he spoke. He got close enough to reach for Crowley, to kiss him if he wanted to.

What he did instead, was reach for one small coil, Zira's broad, slightly pudgy hand resting lightly on Crowley's slim, sharp-nailed one where it in turn lay on some books to steady himself.

The contact was electric. They'd touched before, many times, but never with quite so much hanging between them. Zira realized he was - and in his way always had been - very, very blind when it came to Crowley.

"I've asked a great many things of you over the years, Crowley,"

"Angel-" Crowley was stopped by Zira's other hand, two fingers resting on those pouty lips.

"I have one further request of you."

"Anything." The word was breathed almost helplessly against Zira's fingers.

Both hands drew away from Crowley's skin, then reached for his face. There was the faintest of flinches but he allowed Zira to remove his glasses.

After setting them carefully on some books, he rested one hand on Crowley's cheek and gazed into those pretty, pretty eyes that he'd been half in love with since Eden. "Don't ever hide from me again."

Crowley's agreement was a kiss hot enough to make hellfire feel like a cool breeze.


End file.
